


In the Cottage, With the Gardner

by MessengerHermes



Series: The Monroe Wives [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crossdressing, Erotica, F/M, Mild D/s, PWP, Polyamory, employer/employee relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessengerHermes/pseuds/MessengerHermes
Summary: Many tended to picture vivacious Delia as the Mrs. Monroe more fond of dominating others. Clive frankly thought if they believed that, none of them had ever seen how sharp Helena’s smile became when she saw something she liked. A short interlude where Helena is impressed by Clive's new skirt.





	In the Cottage, With the Gardner

Many tended to picture vivacious Delia as the Mrs. Monroe more fond of dominating others. Clive frankly thought if they believed that, none of them had ever seen how sharp Helena’s smile became when she saw something she liked.

Helena stared at him intently from his living room doorway, her hand resting onthe frame as if she might push off at any moment. 

“I announced myself.” Helena says, as if clarifying. The corners of her mouth twitch. Clive recalls all the descriptions of roguish barons consumed by lust in the romance novels he stole from his cousin as a kid.

“You did, ma’am. And I invited you in.” Clive says, attempting not to fidget.

“Then you are comfortable being seen at the moment?” Helena asks. 

Clive nods, “Yes ma’am. Does this bother you?”

The Monroes had hired him a couple years ago, and never batted an eye about his presentation or fondness for mixing clothing and accessories traditionally designated for women into his wardrobe. They asked occasionally about pronouns, but never pried. So long as his clothing wasn’t a safety hazard while gardening he could wear what he liked. And when they invited him to the Sunday parties, he was welcome to dress as he pleased there as well. But there always was that nagging fear that it could become a problem.

“No.” Helena breathes. “Not at all. Is that the skirt Delia gave you?”

While none of the staff were quite sure where Delia worked, they’d all grown accustomed to receiving occasional gifts from the office. Usually given with the explanation, “It’s something new we’re rolling out, please tell me how you like it.” 

Earlier in the week Delia had dropped by the tool shed with a package as Clive was pulling on his work gloves for the day. She’d popped it on top of one of the mulch bins and said, “I hope I guessed right, but we’re working on this new line and I thought it suited you!” He pointed out she was fifteen past her usually leaving time and she’d taking off cursing before he thought to open the package.

He’d teared up that night after finding the black skirt, spotted with vibrant red flowers sitting on the top of the pile when he opened the package. Delia had been right, it did suit him. With the first crop of spring vegetables ready to harvest and pruning work to handle, he hadn’t had time to try on the package’s contents.

The fabric was light, but well woven and when he slipped on the skirt this morning it fit perfectly, hugging close around his ass and hips before flaring out, the hem hitting just above his knee. He wasn’t even planning on going anywhere, but the skirt was too cute to take off and he’d gone about his housework in it. 

Which brought him here, standing in his living room as Helena Monroe stepped towards him, bare feet silent on the wood floor. She always left her shoes at the door, he appreciated that.

“You look lovely. Would you mind if I sent Delia a picture?” Helena asks, stopping not three feet from him. Giving him a gap he could grow or shrink as he pleased.

“Not at all, I haven’t had a chance to thank her yet, it’s beautiful.” Clive answers, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from it. “I wish I’d worn a better top.”

He’d put on a blue poplin button up and rolled up the sleeves before putting on the skirt this morning. It was a comfortable house shirt with the ends tied into a crop top and he hadn’t thought to change it.

“I like that one. It makes a nice casual look.” Helena says, smiling as Clive poses. He hears her phone’s camera click and she shows him the photo. 

“Oh, it does look alright together.” Clive says stepping closer to see. 

Helena sends the image to Delia and tucks her phone in her pocket. “It looks more than alright, but you really can make anything stunning, Clive.” 

Clive feels his face heat and looks away. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“You know you don’t have to call me ma’am, Clive.”

“Does it bother you?” Clive asks, shivering as he breathes in the violet scent of her hair. 

Helena smiles, wicked and sweet at once, “Not at all.”

“Would you mind, right now if I kissed you, Clive?” Helena asks, stepping so she stands just in front of him.

This close, Helena’s three or so inches on him mean he has to tilt his head back a bit to look into her dark eyes. The proximity makes his heart skip a beat and he restrains a broad dizzy smile. 

“Not at all, ma’am.”

Then her hands are in his hair and her mouth on his and he’s wondering what shade their lipsticks will make together and thanking all the stars in the sky for the wall behind him as his shoulders find it and his hands find the firm swell of Helena’s hips. 

Clive slides his hands up beneath Helena’s loose blouse and he runs his nails along the smooth, firm muscles of her back. Helena hisses in his mouth and presses closer, her teeth nip his lip and her hands slide down, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they find their way to his ass. Clive slots one leg between her thighs, pressing forward and groans as Helena’s hands squeeze. 

Helena pulls back a moment, resting her forehead against his. One hand slides around to the front, the tips of her fingers skimming the bulge of his erection beneath his skirt and his hips twitch, the hand he’s tangled in her hair tugs lightly. 

Helena’s voice is low and thick and her smile sharp. “May I see what’s under here?” 

His erection twitches beneath her fingers and Clive knows she felt it by how her smile grows.

“Yes ma’am. But maybe we should scoot over?” he asks, indicating the sofa.

Helena glances at the sofa and nods, “Good plan. Impressive foresight under pressure as always.” She says, turning her hand to palm him and Clive bites back a moan.

They make it as far as the arm of the couch before they are caught up again in a tangle of open mouthed kisses, pressing hands and scratching nails. Clive ends up with his back still against the wall, one leg along the arm of the sofa and Helena straddling it, one of her feet on the floor, one knee on the sofa. 

Her smile is so wide when she rucks up his skirt for a moment Clive thinks her face may split. 

He’s wearing a pair of underwear that came packaged with the skirt. Cut high like a pair of panties, but with more room in front to accommodate his package, Over his hips are a pair of sheer lace panels in a rich maroon. The front and back panels are a silky black that makes him shiver every time his erection brushes against it. 

A fact Helena quickly realizes and uses to her advantage, loosely wrapping her fingers around him through his underwear and caressing his head through the fabric.

A distant part of Clive recognizes in any other situation he’d probably feel a bit embarrassed at the high, wanting noise that slips from his mouth. Instead he tugs open the sash holding Helena’s wrap top closed and pulls her closer, fastening his lips over one brown nipple through the sheer lace of her camisole. 

Helena moans and tightens her grip in reply, pressing her hips down to grind against his bare leg. Her free hand tangles in his hair, thumb rubbing absent circles against the sensitive hollow behind his ear. His hands find the waistband of her pants and fumble open the fly, before giving them a questioning tug. He feels more than sees Helena nod in response and she lifts her hips as he pulls them down along with her underwear. She kicks them off to the floor before resettling and he shivers at the feeling of her, slick and wet against his thigh.

He presses one hand to her vulva, two fingers sliding inside her without resistance, his thumb resting snugly against her clit. She groans and he feels her flex, strong and wet against his fingers. Her hands come up to the front of his shirt and tug open the snaps, palms pressing flat against his chest and pushing the fabric away. Her teeth find the tender spot where his neck and shoulder meet, biting. 

He bucks and her nails rake down his sides, just hard enough to hurt in the way that makes his skin warm all over. He slides his free hand up her torso, pulling up her camisole so his teeth can find her nipples again, nipping hard before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. 

Her hands hike his skirt up around his waist, and tug down his underwear just enough to free his erection. She pushes him back against the wall. Her mouth roams over his neck and chest in a series of biting kisses. One hand wraps around his dick, thumb swiping over his head as her fingers slide over the shaft with a well-practiced confidence. 

Clive groans, his head falling back against the wall. He can smell her perfume and her wetness. He runs his free hand down her back, nails undoubtedly leaving red lines in their wake. Between them there’s only the sound of their fast breath and the soft wet noises of his fingers inside her. He struggles not to come.

“I want to see you come, Clive. Let me see you.” Helena breathes, and her hand’s pace quickens. 

Clive’s breath hitches, but he opens his eyes, holding up his free hand “Wait. The skirt. Dry clean only.”

“Shit.” Helena says, glancing around. 

Her eyes land on the t-shirt rag he’d been dusting with earlier lying on the nearby end table. Showing an impressive amount of reach, she snatches it up, her hand slowing, but not stopping. 

He nods when she holds it up, “Good foresight.”

She laughs, spreading the rag over his front, her pace speeding up again, “I must have picked it up somewhere. Now, can you come for me?”

“Oh, fuck. Yes. Yes, ma’am.” Clive says, tipping his head forward to press into the crook of her neck.

Helena grinds down against his hand, bracing herself on the wall with her free hand as she keeps up the strong fast pace. 

“Yes, show me, sweetie. I want to see you come, gorgeous.” Her mouth is so close to his ear, her voice low and insistent. 

Clive feels the tension snap in his stomach. His orgasm rocks through him and he tilts his head, biting down on Helena’s neck, muffling a groan. 

His body goes completely limp and he rocks backward, head resting against the wall. Helena follows him, one arm still bracing her as she leans over him. He puts all his remaining energy into working his hand against her, scissoring his fingers back and forth in her cunt as his thumb rubs steady circles into her clit. She groans. He strokes a hand over her back, pulling her close enough that he can run his tongue over her nipples, letting his breath blow over her skin. 

“Please, ma’am. Please. Let me watch. Let me feel you.” He begs, pulling her close and he feels her rock over him, her shout echoing off the sunlit walls. “Oh fuck, yes ma’am, yes.”

Clive reaches between them and wipes his dick dry with the rag before tossing it aside. They stay there a moment, perched on the arm of the sofa. their breath mingling as their hearts resume an unrushed tempo.

Helena tilts her head down so their eyes meet. “Timber.”

Before Clive finishes saying “What.” she tugs them both to the side and they’re sprawled along the sofa, clothing half on, arms and legs tangled together. They laugh until their breath runs out and fall quiet, enjoying each other’s company. 

“Clive?” Helena asks, dragging her pants closer with one foot.

“Helena?” He asks in return, turning to her.

She holds up her phone, “Would you mind if I sent a picture to Delia?” 

Clive laughs, “Not at all.”

Delia texts back a selfie covered in thumbs up stickers.


End file.
